And the Sky Full of Stars
by Bazylia de Grean
Summary: It is raining on Dromund Kaas. Again. She does not remember a time it was not raining here. Not so long ago she would have found the steady patter of raindrops annoying, but now it is bliss, as it drowns out the memories and the echoes of voices in her head. (Imperial Agent, Keeper)


_SPOILERS for the Imperial Agent storyline and ending._

* * *

It is raining on Dromund Kaas. Again. She does not remember a time it was not raining here. The rain is a steady curtain of droplets, making everything hazy – as if the world did not seem unreal enough already – hiding the contours of the city behind a shimmering wall. Not so long ago she would have found the steady patter of raindrops annoying, but now it is bliss, as it drowns out the memories and the echoes of voices in her head.

It also helps her forget about the things she had to give up. Her name, exchanged for a designation – ah, she was so proud back then; her freedom, taken from her even though she had already devoted her life to serve – ah, it still hurts to think of it. But what scares her is the thought that in the end, it might have been worth it. And now, that she is finally free, her freedom scares her, too.

She shudders, from dread rather than from the cold, and takes another sip of the Alderaanian brandy. It is all over now. Something ended, something began. And there is so much to do... There is always so much to do.

Once again, a moment of transition. The world does not stop, but there is so much going on and changing right now that some things escape notice, and it is easier to slide past the security and prying eyes. That, though, poses no difficulty. After all, she is a ghost now.

The world does not know of these changes yet. But it will learn. Oh, yes, it will. The Sith have learned already. The Jedi have suddenly discovered some long-kept secrets, and the Dark Council is in a state of panic. They would never admit it, of course, but they have re-established the Intelligence, and swore that no agent will face punishment for what had happened. She will see that they keep their word.

She is sitting on the roof of the building, hidden from view and security cameras. Drinking. And waiting. She is soaked, hair plastered to her head, clothes clinging to her body, and raindrops flowing freely down her face, mixing with tears. She does not cry often, but now it is finally over, and she has to let the emotions out.

She has been shoving everything to the back of her mind, but now that she finally has time, it all returns. The choices. The consequences. Sometimes she thinks that it would have been better if that fateful night on Nar Shaddaa had never happened.

Strange, how clearly she still remembers that night. The bitter taste of beer on her tongue, the buzz of talks, the laughter, all of them trying to make the best of their miserable existence. It was raining that night, too.

* * *

They have already drunk too much, that much was obvious to Rin. Otherwise they would never have began that stupid game of dare. Funny thing, she was still sober enough to know it was a bad idea.

The stranger was dressed in a way that let him merge into the background of smugglers and petty criminals, but there was something about him that screamed Imperial officer. And, she realised instantly, that was precisely his intention, for whatever reason. She knew that type. Imperial intelligence. Usually, though, they were invisible.

Rin watched the man for a moment longer, trying to see some details that could give her any hints about him. He was tall, lean, dark-haired, and there was something cold in his eyes. There was also something else about him – charisma. For some reason, he wanted it to show, and oh, show it did.

"He's nice," sighed Nila, stroking her lekku thoughtfully.

"Well, once your shift begins, you can try to seduce him." Yalia shrugged, impassive. "Not hairy enough for me, anyway." She grinned, sharp teeth gleaming in the blinking lights of the cantina. "Besides, you know what they say of them Imperials."

"I've heard enough from the other girls. But he seems different."

Maybe it was what Nila said – and Nila knew about those things, being a dancer herself – or maybe it was the man himself, but Rin was... interested. And a bit anxious. And very excited.

She had done some jobs for the Imperials in the past, and thought they did not pay as much as she could earn working for the local info broker, they always treated her decently, because the commander and a few of his men had known her father.

They had suggested that she could become a soldier, but she had refused. Maybe if she had found them earlier, maybe if she had had proper training. But after her parents had got killed by some Republic privateer and she had escaped, she had spent too much time on the streets. She had had nothing, but had managed to get by, had fought the adversities fiercely, and had slowly sculpted herself a living.

Had even made some friends. Street rats, unlike her, from the beginning. First it had been a favour for a favour, and then they had grown to like each other. Yalia, a Cathar, the youngest of them all and already a master-thief. Nila, a so called exotic dancer, working in the _Slippery Slopes_ cantina. And Kes'sah, a Chiss, like Rin herself, working as an aspiring bounty hunter; they had trained shooting together many times, but then she had left Nar Shaddaa and they had lost contact.

Rin looked at her friends, and then back at the Imperial. She had grown accustomed to the life she led, but that man could be her way out... Her way back into the Empire. She did not remember much after so many years, but the Empire meant home. And she wanted to return home, very much.

She gulped down the beer. "I bet that by the end of the night I'll end up in one room with him, alone."

Yalia's ears twitched. "No seducing allowed."

"Absolutely none," Nila agreed. "Or I'll be jealous."

"None whatsoever." Rin grinned. "After all, I'm a woman of many talents."

At first, she tried the straightforward approach and just walked over to him. A girl trying to hit on an Imperial officer would surprise no one, not here. They had money, they usually had nice lodgings, and though some of them were jerks, or just outright cruel – not unlike the scum in the underworld which she was now part of – some of them were decent enough. Those dancers that had Imperial lovers told all kind of tales. One had claimed that she had never met someone as protective, kind and attentive as her officer.

And Rin was curious to what category the stranger belonged. She smiled to herself – she would really not mind if the night ended with them both not only in one room, but in one bed. And she really hoped for a nice, comfortable bed.

She stopped by the table and leaned over it, smiling her best seductive smile. Some considered the Chiss slightly creepy, but some considered them exotic, and she hoped that he would be one of the latter.

The man glanced up from his drink. "I'm not interested." He waved her aside before she even spoke to him.

"I want to join." The words were out of her mouth before she could think it through. She was not even certain if the man was Imperial Intelligence... but bluffing was one way of learning the truth. And, in most cases, she could rely on her intuition.

He turned to face her, really noticing her for the first time. "Join what?" he asked, in a smooth voice. But his eyes narrowed – a warning. One false step, girl, they said, and you will regret it.

She leaned in closer, pretending that she was trying to seduce him. "Imperial Intelligence?" she whispered quietly into his ear.

He did not move, did not blink, did not give away any sign that her question surprised him. But when she pulled away, he put his hand on her wrist, fingers closing on her pulse.

"It's a dangerous game you're trying to play, girl." His face was impassive – simply that of a man not interested in any flirts. But there was something in his eyes... a warning, but something more. He was impressed.

"Perhaps. But here, I'm in my own backyard. You're not. So if anything goes wrong, I could help you avoid trouble, or could make you disappear, or..." She winked at him.

"Or?" he asked.

She leaned in again. Up close, she could see that his eyes were blue, and, though cold, they were not cruel. And... inwardly, she smiled with satisfaction. His pupils were dilated, and only because of the dim light.

"I've leave you to your guessing..." She let her breath ghost over his cheek. "So long... agent."

A few hours later it turned out that he needed her assistance after all. She followed him, and when he made a mistake – because the information he had was not enough – and got a few gangsters shooting at him, she helped. One home-made smoke grenade, and she pulled him away, into a ventilation shaft – he had almost shot her at first, but had recognised her immediately – and then she led him to the relative safety of her little hideout.

She offered that he could stay the night, just to mislead anyone that could be chasing him – a sensible course of action would be to get off planet, after all – and then go to the nearest Imperial outpost in the morning. He watched her closely for some time, in silence, and then agreed.

"Aren't you afraid of me, girl?" he asked. His eyes were on her, appraising, assessing.

"If you wanted to kill or harm me, you'd have already done so. I think I can trust you, at least in that." She arched her eyebrows, waiting for a confirmation. None came. "Besides," she added, "I have cameras here. If anything happened to me, my friends would know and come after you."

"But now that I know about it, I could just destroy your surveillance equipment, couldn't I?" It was not obvious, but she guessed that he was testing her rather than threatening her.

"You're not stupid enough to believe I keep the recordings here?" She smiled briefly. "The cameras send the feedback to a few different places. You wouldn't find them all. Not until my friends found you, at least."

He gave her a long look. "You're resourceful, I'll give you that." There was another pause. "I will recommend you for training. Just remember one thing: agents don't play games." At least not with each other, that was what he meant, but there was no need to say it aloud.

Clearly, he was not entirely immune to her charm. He tried to hide it, of course, but she could tell. She could always tell. And she supposed he could tell that she was at least a little interested in him.

"I have no problems with that." She felt the attraction, but it was not worth sacrificing her chance for a better life for it. "But I have another problem right now. I'm starving. And I guess you're hungry, too."

They ate and drank, and then she felt how tired she was. He looked tired, too, but it seemed that he was not planning to go to sleep that night. Not in a stranger's house. Nor was she going to sleep with a stranger in her room. In the end, she threw her blanket onto the floor, took out two bottles of some beer, and they sat down – carefully, at a distance, watching each other closely.

"What's your name, girl?" he asked eventually.

"Merr'arrin," she answered. Then she smiled flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes at him. "Rin, for friends."

"We're not friends," he corrected calmly. "But you saved my life today, and I won't forget it." He looked into her eyes, serious and thoughtful. "Merr," he added.

They were not friends, but after that night he knew that he could trust her, and she knew that she could trust him. And... there was something in his eyes, deep beneath the ice on the surface. He was drawn to her. He could not let it get in the line of work, but he was drawn to her. And she knew that once she would join the Imperial Intelligence and they would meet more often, it would get none the easier for him.

She smiled. Ah, she was going to have fun teasing him, those uptight ones were always fun. There was a vague feeling that nothing would ever come of it, but she liked challenges.

* * *

They threw a real challenge at her at the end of her training. She was just one step of becoming a full-fledged agent, there was just one more test before her. And that was to seduce him, of all people.

She knew the reasons for that, of course. It was obvious that someone must have noticed they shared a relationship closer than just the usual dealings of an agent trainee and her superior. They were not friends, not in the usual meaning of the word, but there was trust on both sides... and understanding. He could tell her one thing, and just look at her, and she would know that he meant something else. She knew his mind, just as he knew hers.

Perhaps it was because, in the beginning, he had been looking after her, in his own peculiar way. He had been asking about her training, he had been telling her of the Intelligence, and had just talked to her of various things, ensuring that she would get the best education possible. But there had been nothing that would go beyond what a superior supporting his subordinate could do. Then, after he had become a Watcher, he had no longer had as much time, but the bond remained.

And as she was about to become an agent, he was to be promoted to the rank of the Keeper. The official part was already over, and that night, there was a small celebration held for the members of the Intelligence. The Dark Council had also been invited, but everyone doubted than a single Sith would show.

The new Keeper had asked her to accompany him at the celebration, as he had done a few times in the past. An officer with his record and reputation could go alone, of course, but it would be a little awkward, and it would be considered more prestigious if he showed up with a pretty woman at his side.

She had agreed, of course, as she had always done. And then Watcher Four, overseeing her training now, had given her the assignment. She knew he had been listening, but it changed nothing.

So there it was – her final test, tailored especially for her. A test of her skills – he would be a difficult target, she knew – and a test of her loyalty. Hers, but also his. Would he adhere to the regulations, or would he break the rules? Would she go through with her assignment, not caring that it could hurt him later, that it could make their work and relations awkward in the future? But she had a job, and she had to do it.

She was always mindful of her appearance, but for that night she had transformed herself into a work of art. A red shimmersilk dress – the colour of blood and wine, both things that could make a heart beat faster – showing off her shoulders; matching lipstick and eye shadows, twin red lines going from the corners of her eyes up to her temples; and her hair pinned up, to expose the graceful line of her neck.

When she opened the door and the Keeper saw her, his greeting came a second too late. And when she smiled at him and took his arm, she saw how much effort he had to put into keeping his eyes on her face and not letting his gaze drop lower. But she pretended that she noticed nothing.

The evening, though, was a torture. She had been attracted to him for years, but that evening she felt even more drawn to him. Maybe it was his new uniform. Or maybe it was the awareness of what that evening could end with, because of her assignment.

They talked with other officers and agents. They drank a moderate amount of wine. And they danced. She stayed closer than was necessary – close enough so that he would smell her perfume – smiling her most charming smiles and trying to keep calm and collected, but his warm hand on her waist was surprisingly distracting.

No one noticed anything. Except for Darth Vowrawn, who had accepted the invitation and was the only Sith in the room. And she was not certain if she was more annoyed by the presence of a Sith, or more grateful to fate that it was Vowrawn. For a Sith, he was quite agreeable. Jolly, even, in comparison with other members of the Dark Council. And he certainly was having fun, watching the two of them.

"I've been admiring your partner for the whole evening, Keeper," Vowrawn said when the three of them met at the wine table. "A very promising agent, from what I've heard." He smiled at her. "And a very beautiful woman, don't you think?"

The Keeper looked at her, seemingly unruffled. "Yes," he nodded. "She is remarkable," he added, and his eyes gleamed.

She could see that the compliment was honest. And his sentiment was genuine, too. And, truth to be told, she was not certain what to do with that.

There had been many moments when she had wondered how it would be if they became lovers. He was charismatic, intelligent, and she still found him attractive. And she cared for him, in a way. And she had thought that what he felt was similar. That evening, for the first time, she considered that maybe there was more, and that what she was about to do might hurt him.

She did not want to hurt him... But he was the one that had taught her that sometimes, sacrifices were necessary.

That was why, on the way back, she asked him if they would share a drink – just the two of them, like in the old times. He had drank enough wine over the course of the evening to agree. They ended up in his apartment – they had met there to talk quite often over the years.

"Alderaanian brandy," he said, pouring the drinks. "I've been saving it for a special occasion, but I guess this is as good as any."

"What exactly, sir?" She smiled, walking over to him. "Your promotion? Me becoming an agent?" She stopped right in front of him, their bodies almost touching. "Or the fact that we are here, alone?" she asked quietly.

He had to struggle to remain calm. "You're an agent and I'm the Keeper, we can't..."

"Shouldn't. That's not the same," she corrected. "You see, this night is special. I'm not an agent yet, and you've been promoted already, yes, but you won't take office until tomorrow... A moment of transition, you could say. Sir." She put her hands on his shoulders. "When the world is motion, and many things can pass unnoticed..." she whispered right into his ear.

She felt his hands on her waist; he gave in finally, and leaned closer, his mouth hovering over hers...

"Good job, agent," came Watcher Four's voice from the little communicator concealed in her belt.

The Keeper looked at her, understanding slowly dawning on him. "Yes." He immediately got a hold of himself. "Good work." His face betrayed no emotion, but something flashed in his eyes. "You really are remarkable, agent."

She closed her eyes, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "I am sorry," she said at last, then softly kissed his cheek. When she pulled away, she held his gaze. I meant every word, her eyes said.

I told you we cannot, agent, his eyes answered.

* * *

Even though he had stopped inviting her long ago, she sneaked into his apartment after the incident with Darth Zhorrid. She was worried for him. They have grown out of friendship – the difference in rank demanded it – and the attraction had dissolved over the years, but trust remained.

He said nothing when he noticed her, just gave a signal to his droid to start white noise broadcasting, so that they could talk freely. And, most importantly, he did not tell her to get out.

"I was worried," she said quietly.

"I'm fine, Cipher." He seemed fine and calm... but she could see that he was afraid of what Zhorrid could do.

"You are not," she protested. "Sir," she added, in an afterthought. "You're afraid."

He sighed. "Nothing escapes your notice." Without another word, he got up and went over to the cabinet where he kept alcohol. "Come in, have a seat. At least we can talk like civilized people do." There was a hint of mockery in his voice, and the reference to Zhorrid was clear. "I am afraid," he admitted, handing her a glass of Alderaanian brandy. "I fear for my agents. I fear for you." He shook his head. "Do not enrage her, agent. She's more dangerous that you know."

"She hurt you."

"That is irrelevant."

She looked at him, her eyes wide with worry. "If that's my fault..."

"Stop blaming yourself." He sounded tired. "Stop blaming yourself for my decisions and some else's madness."

She nodded, but kept silent. For a few minutes they just sipped their drinks, saying nothing. She was the first to speak again.

"What do we do now?"

"Stand together, as always." A brief, bitter smile crossed his lips. "Shadows to shadows."

She raised her glass. "To shadows, then."

There was a quiet clink as he touched his glass to hers. "To shadows."

* * *

It was evident that he was not pleased with how she had accomplished the mission. And he was not even hiding that, no; he chose to let it show, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together into a thin line. But he was not raging – he never was. His anger was cold, calm, calculated – or at least it seemed so. She knew there were emotions under this mask of ice.

"Do you have any idea what have you done?" His eyes flashed; the only indication of the emotions burning inside. "What were you thinking..."

"Watcher Two came up with that plan," she interrupted bitterly. How dared he accuse her? "Your precious, miraculous genius suggested that. What was I to do? Fight Jadus?" She started pacing. Usually, she could keep herself in check, but the emotions were boiling, threatening to erupt any moment.

"So many cities destroyed, because you..."

She whirled, turning on him; in a blink of an eye she was right in front of him, her fingers gripping the lapels of his uniform. "Me? Me?" She shook her head; her vision becoming blurry. In her thoughts, she uttered a curse; she rarely cried, but she had to let go of the emotions somehow; it was either that or striking him, and she was not gone far enough to forget possible consequences of that. "I did what I could, I did what I was advised to do! You overlooked Jadus, let him weave that plot right under your nose, you..." She choked on a breath. "I was ready to die there, too, to stop him. I didn't hesitate. I was loyal. And that's how you repay me?"

"Calm down, Cipher." His voice was cool, calm. It made her blood boil.

Her hand moved as if on its own accord, flying towards his cheek; she no longer cared what punishment it might earn her later. She just had to make him understand.

He caught her wrist in an iron grip, strong enough that she could not jerk her hand free, but not forceful enough to hurt her. There was wetness on her face and her cheeks burned in shame; she should control better herself, she really should...

"I've heard them," she said, her voice a distant, bitter whisper. "I've heard them calling for help. But it was too late. I did what you ordered me to do, I stopped the threat permanently." Her breath hitched in her chest. "I only did what you taught me to. Wasn't it you who taught me that sometimes sacrifice is necessary? Wasn't it you?" She looked up at his face, but his features were blurred. "I was ready to die up there..." Her voice finally broke. "I wanted to... I didn't want to make that decision. It wasn't my call. It was too much." She shook her head. "Only did what you'd taught me to..."

His hold on her wrist softened and her hand slipped down – she had no strength to hold it up. He caught her hand gently and held it in his.

"I'm sorry, agent." His voice was softer, too, the ice having melted away. "I'm sorry."

"I am, too. You told me I'd regret one day, remember?" She blinked, shook her head, stepped away suddenly, calmer now, calm enough to end the dramatics. Pathetic, she thought. Pathetic. "I'm sorry, sir." Her voice was still quiet, but even. "My behaviours was inexcusable. It will not happen again..." She fell silent when he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Agent. It's..." He wanted to say that everything was all right, but they knew that would have been a blatant lie. And, living in a web of lies every day, they needed some truths to hold on to, no matter how bitter. "It was a long day," he finished at last. "It's been a few long moths." He did not mention Darth Zhorrid by name, but they both knew what he meant. "I think we could both use a drink, or perhaps two."

She laughed. It was choked, a little hysterical, but amused. "It's not a wise idea. Sir."

"Those are not wise times," he remarked. "So perhaps we need to adapt in order to survive."

Slowly, she nodded, smiling bitterly, cynically, and just a little wistfully.

He invited her to sit on the sofa, then went to pour them drinks. When he returned, he offered her a glass of Alderaanian golden brandy, and then sat next to her. Far enough not to violate regulations about fraternisation, close enough for them both to be uncomfortable. They did not talk, sipping the alcohol in silence. With each passing year, it was more difficult to talk, his each promotion and her each mission deepening the rift between them.

She closed her eyes, listening to the sound of raindrops pattering against the window. It was soothing. The she opened her eyes and looked at him, and he looked at her – and all the words that they have forgotten how to speak were there, in their gazes. And some of those words that they could not speak, even in private.

"You tried to warn me that it would not be what I thought," she said at last. "I didn't understand it back then. But now I do." She briefly bowed her head. "Thank you."

"I wish I had been more convincing," he admitted quietly, and it sounded like a sigh.

Regrets, she thought, each year more regrets. "I'm glad you hadn't been." In many aspects, it was not a lie, at least not outright. It felt genuine enough for her that she could offer it as a comforting truth.

* * *

They had talked about it already, at the Intelligence Headquarters, but she needed more. She needed the truth, she needed real answers, something more substantial. He probably had not lied about the Sith wanting to kill her – but sacrifice was a part of their work. She laughed quietly, bitterly – ah, yes, now that would be a perfect argument for him.

From that night on Nar Shaddaa on, there had been a foundation of trust between them. During the years of her training and then work, they had built on it – he had relied on her assessment of the situation and trusted her decisions, and she had trusted him to care for her safety as much as possible.

And then he had used that trust against her. She could forgive many things, but not that. She only wanted answers... And, perhaps, revenge. Probably. Damn, yes, she wanted revenge, because one did not simply betray his subordinate's trust!

He had not tried to blame the Sith for his own decisions, she had to give him that. And he had promised that she could have her revenge later, should she want it. She was not certain if revenge was what she wanted... but answers certainly were. And she was not going to wait any longer. If she was to work for them, or even with them, she needed to know.

Her thoughts wandered back to Hoth and to the Chiss Aristocra. Saganu had done her a favour, welcoming her into his house... And, for a moment, she had felt like she could have a home, one day. But she knew it was not possible. Not if she did not wish to get him entangled in all that ugly business that she was in up to her neck. And she did not want to do that to him, because he had been nothing but polite, genuinely kind, and, which was the most important, he had also been honest.

No, she had to stay here, with the Intelligence. That was her place for good or bad, simply because she had nothing else, nowhere else to go. Meanwhile, though, she needed to have a talk with the Minister of Intelligence.

His official apartment was rich, fancy, and nothing like him. And, of course, he rarely slept there. But she knew his hiding place, she knew where he disappeared when he wanted peace. So that is where she went.

The modest apartment was at the borders of the city. There were security cameras everywhere, of course, but she had taken her astromech with her. There was a reason she had had to pay through the nose for it: Moss, which is how she called the droid, was brilliant with computers, able to make them dance to its tune. So she quietly ordered Moss to records a few minutes of the camera footage and then put it on the loop, adjusting the time.

Only then, knowing that she should be safe for at least for a short time, she sliced the lock and slipped inside. The apartment was not very big – she remembered it, knew it by heart – a small kitchen, a refresher, a living room, a small room he used as his office, and an even smaller bedroom. All simple and comfortable, but without luxuries. Not many personal belongings – no holos, no souvenirs. A few holo-books, some music recordings, that was all.

On her tiptoes, she crossed the corridor. At the bedroom door, she stopped, took a deep breath. She adjusted her hold on the blaster; her hand was slippery with sweat. And she was still unsure whether she wanted to kill him for what he had done to her. She had killed Kothe and the others. She knew that she would shoot Hunter when she only saw him. But this man... they had a history, and it made everything difficult. And he always tried to protect his agents from the wrath of the Sith, in all the ways he could – which was not many, but he did his best.

The Minister of Intelligence slept lightly, like all agents did, and woke up instantly when she slipped into his rooms. He was focused, just as she remembered. And – but of course! – he slept with a gun beside his bed, so he did not greet her unarmed.

As soon as he recognised her, though, he put the gun away – just let it slip to the floor, as if it did not matter, as if she did not have her own gun aimed at him. That, of course, could be just another act. He as good at acting. Real good. Even better than her.

She expected him to say something. Anything. A lot of things. To explain. To speak, blast it.

Instead he just watched her silently. She did not doubt that he could be charismatic even in his sleepwear... but he did not seem so. Not now. Not to her. Or maybe he did not want to be.

He was just... very tired. Exhausted. Each year having left its mark on him.

The Minister opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, closed it. Tried again. She thought that if he called by name, she would know it for the manipulation it would be. But if he called her by her designation... she would kill him. She would probably not be able to stop herself.

"Ask," he said at last, quietly, but clearly. She did not remember ever hearing him sounding that tired.

She wanted to ask him so many questions... But she expected him to be just as she remembered.

"Why?" she asked, quietly, as weary as he was.

For a long time, he just kept looking at her. "The Council wanted to kill you," he repeated the answer which he had already given her, but this time, spoken in a voice so tired, it sounded more convincing. More... human. "I couldn't let you die." He paused, looked at her. "Perhaps I should have. I am sorry. I should have been stronger." He took a breath, briefly closing his eyes. "I couldn't let you die," he echoed.

She had thought that should he say that to her, she would laugh. She did not. Because she still remembered that officer who had got a street rat into the Intelligence ranks and then had watched her progress, had guided her. Who had always trusted her. And who had... Well, whatever it might have been, it would have gotten into the line of work. Besides, it had been, what, ten years since then? Too long ago. It was irrelevant.

Except that it was not. Not for him, anyway. And she could not blame him for... whatever it was. She could not blame him for considering her too important in his life to part with her. It had been selfish of him, yes, but there was so little in their lives that really belonged to them that she could not blame him for that, either.

"You betrayed my trust." It was not as accusatory as she had meant it to be. More like disappointed. Hurt.

"I am sorry. I made a mistake, but you had to pay for it. It won't happen again." It was not even a promise, just a statement. Announcement. At some point, someone was going to discover what happened, learn that her conditioning had been erased... And this time, he would be the one to pay. And they both know what price the Sith would demand. "Agent..."

"You can call me Cipher. That's what I am, isn't it?" She did not intend for the question to sound so bitter.

She hoped that he would contradict her and explain that she is much more. Hoped – she would be able to summon her anger back if he did so – but did not expect it.

"Agent," he said instead, and she wanted to curse him.

"I should kill you," she said at last.

"You should," he agreed evenly. Peacefully. The bastard wanted her to kill him!

Just as she would have preferred to die... had she been given a choice in the matter. It was only fair that she took the choice from him now. But revenge was not the reason why she did not pull the trigger.

"I can't," she admitted. It was almost a sigh.

She looked into his eyes. You know why, her stare said.

Yes, I do, he answered soundlessly.

"I've never thought I'd like to go back to those times on Nar Shaddaa. But now I do." She smiled bitterly. "You warned me. I should have listened. I've always been good at listening..."

"You've been the best. At everything."

She turned away, not wishing to see the look on his face. Not wishing to risk that he would give anything away, that his own eyes should betray him. The irony would be delightful, though – a former Watcher, betrayed by his own eyes. She wanted to laugh, but she no longer had it in her.

"Agent," he called quietly. So quietly that she could ignore him.

She did not. She stopped. But did not turn.

"If there is a way of making up to you for all that... I'll find it."

"You know, I thought you'd ask me to forgive you. I hoped you'd beg for it."

"I know you won't. You can't. I violated your trust. There can be no forgiveness for that." He sighed. "Stay safe, agent."

She slipped away as quietly as she had got in. When she returned to her apartment, she kicked off her boots, poured herself a drink and walked out onto the balcony.

It was raining. And for once, she was glad for the rain. She could pretend that it was the sky that was weeping, not her.

* * *

There is no other sound but the hiss of the door opening, but she knows who it is. She was certain that he would have never overlooked the missing bottle – a clue that she left, like a signature, a subtle 'I am here' sign. He makes no sound as he walks over to her.

"Agent," he says quietly.

She looks up, nods at him, then moves her hand, motioning at him to sit down beside her. He just sighs quietly and shakes his head.

"You're a mess," he notes, but with compassion rather than reproach. He takes her hand, grabs her by the shoulder and hauls her up, and she lets him.

He looks as tired as she feels, but she is glad to see him alive. She owed him that much, at least, for all the times he had done everything he could to protect his agents.

"You'd be a mess, too, if..." her voice trails off.

"You think I'm not?" he asks, lips crooking briefly into a mocking smile. Yes, they keep up appearances, but they are both exhausted. And then the look in his eyes soften. "You could have left. Be truly free..."

Yes, she could leave, and no one would notice. She would not even have to hide, with all the information she has now. She could just settle down on one of the more remote planets and leave a peaceful life. No more acting, no more lies. She could be herself... She wonders if she remembers who that is.

"And to leave you alone with everything?" She smiles briefly. "I couldn't. How would you manage without me?" She tries to make light of it all, but she still remembers how calmly he talked that he would be hanged, and she tries to make light of it because it still haunts her dreams. She does not want to hear it again, ever. And now she can make sure it would be so.

"The Empire would fall without you, wouldn't it?" He is almost smiling, but it is impossible to tell whether he is serious or just making a joke.

For a long moment, she keeps silent.

"We could remake the Empire," she says at last, quietly. "The galaxy. Let the Jedi and the Sith bleed each other out. And we could have the Empire that we've always envisioned. For us, ordinary people." She looks at him questioningly. "Maybe not in our time, but in the next generation..." Her lips crook into a smile. "In our children's lifetime, as people say."

The look he gives her is serious. "You could have those children. You could leave, find a peaceful place... I've heard that Aristocra Saganu is quite taken with you."

He would do it, she realises. Encourage her, maybe even be happy for her. Old fool, she thinks fondly. This – whatever it is – has been – between them, is a chance lost, irretrievably. But the ties are wound too tightly for either of them to ever break free.

She could leave, join the Chiss Ascendancy. After all, she is house Miurani's merit adoptive now. But... she cannot. Saganu is like Vector, or Sanju. Too idealistic, too... bright. She does not want to dim his light by her shadow, as would inevitably happen. No. Just like it was with Sanju or Vector, Saganu is better off without her.

"I can't," she says. "I don't want to be the shadow over his life." I am over yours, she wants to add, and look, it has not ended well, has it?

"Shadows to shadows, then?" he asks. There is understanding in his eyes.

Ah, of course he understands. He knows her better than anyone, except maybe for herself.

"Shadows to shadows," she agrees. When she closes her eyes, it seems that the time goes back, and she can almost picture herself wearing the blood-red gown, and him in a dress uniform and with his hair still dark.

"What are you going to do now?" They both know that she will work to better the Empire, but still he asks. To learn of her plans, to make arrangements. And out of concern.

She straightens, looks at him. "I am the Star Cabal now. I will shape the future into what we always wanted it to be, but could never speak it aloud." She smiles. "And I'll keep an eye on you, so that you don't make a mess of things." So that you will be safe, she thinks, but does not say it. She does not have to.

He nods, the set of his lips softening. It is the first time in years that she can see so much emotion in his face. She could always read it behind his stoic expression, knowing it was there, but now she can see it plainly.

"You know," she says, blaming the thought on alcohol, though she is not even slightly tipsy yet, "if Lokin was half his age, I'd marry him in a heartbeat. Just imagine how cute it would be to have a pack of little rakghouls prowling all over the place."

There is moment of silence, and it seems that he is taken aback by her joke, but then they both burst into laughter. Loud, honest, uninhibited laughter, an outlet for emotions, the wings of freedom. She is shaking, laughing so hard that she has to lean her forehead on his shoulder and grab his arm to keep balance.

For a second, he tenses. And then he puts his arms around her, his hand cups the back of her head, fingers tangling into her wet hair, and he holds her tightly to him. She lets him. And herself. This is all that they would ever have. And when she closes his eyes, time goes back, if only for a while.

"Keep safe, agent," he says.

"I will." She briefly puts her arms around his waist and embraces him. "Stay safe, too, Keeper." He is a Minister, but he will always be Keeper for her.

"I will manage, I think." He sounds fairly confident.

But she remembers Zhorrid, and how he tried to keep his agents safe by paying the price himself. She remembers how he calmly talked about his possible death on the deck of the _Tenebrous_. Liar, she thinks, but she knows that he does it because he wants to protect. He does not know any other way.

"I hope you will find peace, Merr," he says quietly.

It has been years since he last called her that. No one else has ever called her by that name, and there is meaning behind it, things that echo with a dull ache in her chest. And when she closes her eyes, time goes back.

She grabs the lapels of his uniform, fingers digging into the material, stretches up and kisses him. The kiss is bitter, and she expected nothing else. But she had to do it – to know, to close that chapter, because it is much more difficult to leave unfinished things behind. Because after all, they deserve some closure, at least. When she pulls away, their breath mingles, and there is a small measure of peace in that little space between their lips.

"Go," he encourages quietly, putting his hands over hers. There is a soft gleam in his eyes that she has never seen there before. Loss. Gain. A moment of peace. "The stars are waiting."

"Yes." She nods. "Shadows to shadows," she adds. There are no better words, none that can say that much.

He shakes his head, and his fingers tighten over hers briefly. "You are light," he says quietly, touching her cheek, just before he lets go and steps away. "You are light," he repeats. Then he turns away and goes inside, leaving her alone.

He does not glance over his shoulder, to look at her one last time. Nor does she call after him. But she watches him, lost is thoughts.

She is not light... but it makes her feel warmer to know that someone thinks so. Who knows, maybe he is even right. After all, those who know the shadow can tell the light from it. But she does not call after him to ask. Sometimes it is better not to know too much.

Straightening her shoulders, she looks up into the sky. It is clouded, but she knows that above the clouds, the sky is full of stars. And they are waiting.


End file.
